| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
12-29-2012, 12:46 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-31-2012, 12:54 PM by Deimos.)
Captivity was not a wholesome regard for one of bedlam’s creatures. It vexed and incensed, immersed his soul in the cataclysmic frustrations of an infidel pariah. Patience, though often a deep well, had been scarred, skinned and scorched in the depths of his tumultuous prison. He’d waited, forbearing and restrained, only to find nothing moving along, an irritating, smothering silence amongst political whims and fancies. He was not a diplomat or emissary, could not smother his thoughts into foreign affairs, and refused to comply with stagnant terms – the Qian always wanted, always yearned, always craved, first a herd for their hypocritical sentiments, his hide, the list grew on and on, spilling over the contents of their kingdom. Too slow, too sedate, consuming and prolonged, and all the while he merely burned and yearned more, devouring the expanse in his malice, in his menace. Now, he presented a chase to the possibility, the potential, of gaining his own freedom, his own liberation; his own purchase of deliverance. It could ruin, devastate, a potential exchange of potent souls, and he would relish being the one to bestow this calamity.
Deimos was not new to the art of war, the brushstrokes of battle, the drums of assaults and sieges. He’d fought time and time before, had earned his right to herald the General status amongst the rancorous Basin members. He lived for wreckage, for carnage, for that meticulous desolation of other realms, other castles, other barricades. First Ricochet, with his exploding powder, then the invasion, with its perilous, volatile, hostile tombs, committing Pyrrhic victory in slaughter, in murder, even amongst their defeat. Presently, he was to face Lace, the spider webbed Glazier of the Edge. They were similar in build and height, slender, warrior figures content with their many trials; it would be interesting to see what advantages either could enact upon the other: Deimos, with his terrible, demonic tracings of death, against the soldier with a fire-breathing lizard and wooden enchantments.
They stood upon the borders, a fringe of the world he’d traipsed upon, protected and defended, so many times before. He knew the runes of the trees and the dying cry of their limbs, recognized the weary, lacquered earth at his heinous, unholy touch, and while he had once hesitated before to unleash the immorality of his design, he wouldn’t now. He no longer had ties to the once guarded lair of his vicious creed, renounced and abandoned by his callous grasp. He wouldn’t bother protecting something that was no longer his. Would they feel the same way towards him, bending against his brutality, trying to halt his escape?
Deimos remained the same. He displayed no outward emotion, eternally impassive, resolute, and guarded, face impassive, showing naught but the treachery and chill of his gaze. He uttered no syllable, no strain of vocals, allowing only the hymns of the battlefield to claim the indignant sounds of their dominating hostility. He was intimidation woven into reticence, composure wrapped within infernal exposition, destruction within statuesque depravity. He moved in taut, controlled barbarity, unlocked from his forsaken scabbard, with the sinuous poise of foul, ravenous predators, long, elegant limbs folding to drive his heresy into the frame of the Glazier. His speed was a daunting force even amongst the folds of greenery and glade, a sinuous, charging maelstrom flung towards his newfound guard. Tucking his dial inward, the beast tilted his cranium towards Lace’s left shoulder, allowing the sharpened end of his horn to become sword, cutlass, and rapier. His motions continued onward, longing to puncture against the side of the foe, intending to drag the blade across shoulder, barrel and hip; a long, remorseless slash. Thereafter the first assault, he plucked his front end to the right, swinging his hind towards Lace’s same side, letting his heels fly towards his adversary in a sinister bout of power and force.
[646 words. 1/4 + 0/1 defense post. 0/1 magic.
Challenge for Lace, for freedom from World’s Edge.
Challenge takes place at World’s Edge borders (forest, morning).
- Deimos begins his assault by tucking his head towards his neck and subsequently bending said cranium towards Lace’s left side. As he charges, he intends to puncture Lace’s shoulder, barrel and hip by dragging his horn along the Glazier’s flesh. After this, he swings his front end towards the right, allowing for his hind feet to aim a kick towards Lace’s left shoulder once more.]
|
|
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE</style>
Time Flies - Time Dies
Truth like a blazing Fire</style>
This was not a situation the Glazier had been longing for. Ever since he first laid eyes on this deadly beast of living stone, he had dreaded having to fight him. It was quite unusual for Lace to actually fear his opponent, but in this case he didn't think that the ponding of the heart or the panicked stirring at the back of the mind was entirely uncalled for. How many battled a creature who could kill nature just by standing there? No, he felt no shame in admitting that he would rather turn tail and flee, not this time.
He wouldn't though. If it had been only for his own sake, it perhaps wouldn't have mattered much, but this fight was not for him but for the Qian. In order to prove their worth, showcase their strength and undaunted nature the silver stallion had no choice but to answer this challenge - more bravely than he was, more skillfully than he thought he could muster at this point. Undaunted, even though the sight of the beast as he came charging all but paralyzed his every limb.
With the defiant screech of his dragon, that now circled above him, echoing in the ears the warrior turned crafter awaited the charge of Deimos with steeled nerves, prepared and fully knowing that one mistake might lead to a loss of limbs, if not life. Awareness that this was not a fight between friends, he waited till the last moment before he shoved himself to the left to avoid the spear of the unicorn; relieved at first that his left shoulder remained unharmed, only to feel the sinking of the stomach that announced his first injury. He screamed in enraged pain as the horn stabbed into the skin of the right shoulder, rapidly carving its way backwards over the length of the muscle until it finally released from his flesh, likely stained with the crimson of his blood. Pain was something he was accustomed to, but nevertheless he could never get over the numbing effect it had on his spirit, the desperation it lit in the chest.
And in this fight, he had no spirit to loose, no calm to spare. His wits was hanging on a thread already, as the mere presence of the dark reaper set his teeth on edge and made all the hairs along the spine stand up in horror.
All but stumbling forward the SoldierCrafter of the Edge avoided the heavy kick of the rear hooves simply because he was on the wrong side. Having no spear to stab his opponent with, he instead called upon the gift of fire residing in his chest and released it, breathing a torrent of hot blue flame against the General's right side. Not pausing or settling with this he forced his muscles to comply, winced against the agonizing scream of the injured shoulder and used the forward momentum of his leap to bring him around, pivoting around the forelegs before he unleashed a kick towards the right flank of the brute before it passed out of reach.
Was it going to be enough? Would the attacks land, or was this stallion indeed a demonic beast similar to the fickle boggart he had once fought beneath the Heart of the world? The scale was likely to tip either way in the battle, because there wasn't much that separated him from Deimos or Deimos from him. Equal in height but for a few inches in the General's favor, similar in built with roughly the same strengths in speed, endurance, agility and experience. Both were familiar with the mist, the trees, the uneven ground riddled with roots... And both had something to loose. None of them were likely to back down, certainly not the gold-backed representative of the Edge; even though, or perhaps because his knees were shaking and the neck darkened with fearful sweat as he regained his balance and turned to face the opponent once more.
This was going to be a close battle, unless something unforeseen happened.
[OOC: Word Count: 676 Post: 1/4 Magic use: 1/2 Companion use 0/1
Lace leaped to the left at the last second, taking the spear at his right shoulder. Avoided the kick to the right since he was on the wrong side.
Attacked by breathing fire at Deimos right side, around the barrel and flank, then used momentum to turn around his forelegs and aim a rear kick to the right flank.
Landed, then turned to face Deimos again to see any coming attacks.]
|
 |
CREDITS: Schwartze | venomxbaby | 116802
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
He lived for brutality, for savagery, for the heinous barbarity of combat and warfare. This devotion to havoc, to conflict and chaos, hummed in his veins, pulsed in his muscles, breathed and crooned in the steady beat of his figure. He relished the domination and distortion, the supremacy and the callous contortions of his ruthlessness, layered his meticulous whims into the concentration of strategic motions, feeling no need to embark on the feelings of others. He remained in his chilling composition, paid no heed to the ache of his foe, too wicked, nonchalant and reserved, so even when his sword broke flesh upon the Glazier’s shoulder, he didn’t alter these insouciant sentiments. An everlasting warrior, Deimos would have time to appreciate and reflect upon the rapture of his assaults after the skirmish ended, when the bearing of his captivity was either prolonged or dislodged. His attention was focused upon overwhelming his opponent, on massacre, on annihilation, on crossing the plains of his prison and arriving back at the Aurora gates.
While one of his moves had made a mark, the other did not. Swerving amongst their duel, Lace had avoided the kick, and now crossed into closer proximity with the terrible, infidel beast. The latter didn’t have time or opportunity to avoid Lace’s first calculated siege, a sudden, winding burn tossed against his right flank that seared, scorched, his hide. The only thing Deimos could remark upon, in cold, darkened humor, was that, at the very least, the fire-breathing Glazier lacked Ricochet’s exploding powder. He’d been burned before, and neither instance was entirely pleasant or one he wished to repeat. The rapid blistering sensation caused him to swing his hind to the left, intending to dodge further infernal collisions. In this swift motion, he managed to abstain from his opponent’s flying feet.
Ah, there laid opportunity in this torrid calamity, in this vile, ignited haze. His devilish calculations and villainous machinations opted to use that venue as another moment to assault and slay. Despite the throbbing, smoldering wound laden upon his haunch, the heathen barreled onward, hoping to catch his foe off-balance as Lace tossed his heels. He charged from the left again, longing to exploit the Glazier’s injured shoulder on the right, holding naught back from his remorseless, cruel movements. Using his brute force, he aimed to ram his right side into Lace’s left, yearning to prolong the agony of prior wounds, craving the unwinding sensation of his supremacy, aching for apprehension and agitation to flicker into the Edge member’s mind. Would he fall? Would he cave? Or would he continue, carving further onslaught, suffering for his herd?
After the ram, Deimos twisted his cranium downwards again, hoping to apply his elongated, lustrous horn to ensue further damage upon vital portions of the adversary’s body. Still close, still near, he swung the gifted sword in a winding arch, longing to cascade it in a vicious slash down the length of Lace’s left shoulder.
[494 words. 2/4 + last defense post. 0/1 magic.
Taking the burn from the fire-breathing Lace upon his right flank, Deimos swings his hind to the left, avoiding the Glazier’s kick. Despite the pain that inflicts his side, he uses this opportunity to charge at Lace once more, aiming to ram his body into the foe’s left side. After this siege, he also swings his cranium downward in order to use his horn in a long, swinging, slashing arch along Lace’s left shoulder.]
|
|
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE</style>
Time Flies - Time Dies
Truth like a blazing Fire</style>
It hurt. The right shoulder ached and throbbed, protesting against the slightest of movement, and the scent of scorching flesh as his fiery breath connected with the hide of his enemy only brought marginal comfort. Lace was not one to relish in the pain of others, not even when the opponent was one such as Deimos; cold, silent, terrifying. He did wish that his rear hooves would have met with anything but thin air however, because now the score was back to zero, their damages equal, the effect of the burns lessened. He needed that advantage. Craved it, desired anything at all that might boost his crumbling confidence - something to chase away the numbing fear with, lest it might overcome his sense of duty and make him turn tails and run.
When the dark unicorn came at him without even breathing a sigh in complaint, he even had to ask himself if the magic had done any damage at all. Did he not feel pain, this stallion? Was he indeed numb to everything, a horrible killing machine void of both thought and feeling? The thought was horrifying, and in a state of half panic the gold-backed stallion smacked the hooves back into the earth after the kick and forced the front up in a rear half a second before the gray bulk slammed into his left side; lifting the front hooves about a foot from the ground to lessen the loss of balance.
The impact still rattled his brain, sent a spear of red-hot agony through the shoulder where blood was forced to the surface by his persistent demand that the leg should move. Warm blood came from the fleshy tear in a thin trickle down the skin, tainting the coat and causing the nostrils to flare when met with the metallic scent.
So familiar, so hated.
Forced to the right by the deadly unicorn, Lace used the fraction of a second where he was suspended in the air to unleash a kick with his left front leg, blindly hoping that it would land upon the right front knee of the reaper. A sharp shriek of pain escaped him as the impact with the ground rattled the shoulder, and with a growl from effort Lace dug the feet into the soft forest ground and forced his body to the left and smack back into the right side of the other, unwilling to allow any space between himself and the leech that was Deimos. By sticking close to his side, the blue-dipped spear would have no room for maneuver, the tip would be too far away to do any real damage. He felt it scrape over the front of the right upper leg, peeling off skin and drawing a thin scratch over the muscle - but no more.
Thankfully. Because even that small scratch added to the count and created another notch in his count down to zero tolerance.
Exerting himself to stay glued to the slightly taller stallion, his skin likely pressed against the gray hide, the Edger forced his head up and the nose to the left, snapping with yellowed ivories toward the eye of the General. At the same time the left rear leg lifted and measured a quick snap toward the others fetlock; a dull kick, lacking in power due to the awkward angle, but hopefully enough to at least distract the opponent enough for the attack on the eye to succeed.
Already sweating, from pain and effort and concentration, Lace tried to push the fear clouding his judgment to the back of the mind. Instead he began to reach outward, his mind searching for the trees that surrounded the battling giants, that restricted their movements and blocked out the sky. Focused, prepared, ready to make his move whenever an opportunity arose.
And ever the dragon circled above their heads, she too waiting for that one moment, when the fire within her chest could be allowed to unleash. Thirsty for revenge against the skull-marked ground-bound earthling, aching to help her bonded; she feared too, and still chose to fight.
That was their nature.
[OOC: Word Count: 687 Post 2/4 Magic use: 0/1 remaining, Companion use 0/1.
Lace managed to land before Deimos crashed into him, and lifted the front in a low rear to lessen the loss of balance. He aimed a kick towards Deimos's right front knee. Touched down from the rear, then immediately forced himself back to the left to side with Deimos, thus avoiding the brunt of the horn attack; taking only a scratch at the right forearm due to the length of the horn (roughly 1.5 feet according to Heather). Pressing against Deimos side, Lace aims a bite at the right eye and a kick to the right rear fetlock.
Fajira keeps circling above their heads, out of reach.]
|
|
CREDITS: Schwartze | venomxbaby | 116802
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
Designed for conquering and distortion, carved by ancient pariahs and unleashed upon the world in predacious splendor, carnivorous grandeur, he wasted no time in providing further unholy sedition, cruel insurrection. His piercing eyes caught the Glazier’s rear, and while the foe seemed to hope it would aid his pursuits, the deplorable, horrible Deimos opted to manipulate the rising motions to his advantage. He was not here to posture minute, swaying attacks, he had defied imprisonment to destroy, damn, and slaughter – with these aspirations came severe strokes of the condemned, the brutal, the licentious. He delved into rapid, quick movements, and noting the expanse of his enemy’s now open neck and chest, aimed to lacerate those vital areas. His long sword corresponded to his head tilt, embarking to slice along the left side of Lace’s torso, and angled a heinous ascent to continue its serrated journey across his nape. Amidst this chaotic indulgence, the adversary aimed a kick towards Deimos’s right front knee – he maneuvered the front of his body slightly to the left, but still felt the slight prick of a hit target grating against the side of the same knee. With the blistering heat along his right flank and the now dull, muted ache along his limb, he allowed one frustrated snort through his nostrils, one deep clench, twitch, of his jaw, to show, lament, his vexation, then continued onward in his chase for freedom and liberation. Arrogance unfettered, confidence assured, the unforgiving reel of his hushed reticence resumed, renewed, and was eager to possess.
He had no chance to be disappointed in another missed opportunity of additional savagery, a mere scratch to the guard’s forearm had not been what he’d had in mind, before his fellow combatant craved more violence. Lace came at him again, righteous fury invoked within rancorous ivories. The sinister swing of his chilling, blue gaze caught their augured sentiments, and before the enamel could puncture the essential organ, he shifted his face upwards. Instead of catching the desired mark, the opponent’s teeth snatched snippets of Deimos’s cheek, pulling away tufts of hair. The ache was momentary, not blinding or searing like his burn or muted like his knee; he was not concerned about handsome features being rendered less glorious. One’s pelt grew back, year after year, season after season - eyes did not.
Once more, his opponent attempted another strike upon his figure. A snap, a swift emblem of irritation and indignation (was he incensing this foe, driving his terror and menace deep into the recesses of his mind?) seemed to fill the core of Lace’s assault. Deimos shifted his hind to the left, evading the perilous juncture to his fetlock, and subsequently facing the Edge member’s left plane again. His mind crooned, pushing away the spellbinding pain of that simmering burn, rendering control, composure, collecting the immoral murmur of his wicked soul. Then, he began his surge. Daggers beat into the ground, right knee grumbling about the pressure and exertion, as he built a vicious, ferocious crescendo of movement, fleet and brisk, turbulence in the ravenous forest. His motions brought him toward the left side of Lace’s barrel, leveling his head with his target, driving a barbaric, monstrous onslaught to rupture, to puncture, to stab.
And all the while, he noticed the ivory lizard hovering in the sky, the pines, the glades – was it waiting for its damnation too?
[566 words. 3/4 + last defense post. 0/1 magic.
During Lace’s half-rear, Deimos uses this opportunity to try and slash at his opponent’s left side – his exposed chest and neck. He angles the front portion of his body slightly to the left to avoid the Lace’s kick, but is still nicked along the side of his right front knee. As Lace tries to bite at his eye, Deimos swings his head upward, avoiding the puncture of his gaze and allowing Lace to take a bit of hair from his cheek. He avoids Lace’s last kick to his rear right fetlock by shifting his hind to the left. Facing Lace’s left side, Deimos charges at Lace’s barrel with his horn in effort to puncture that area.]
|
|
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE</style>
Time Flies - Time Dies
Truth like a blazing Fire</style>
He wasn't battling a dewy-eyed beginner fresh in his first battle, that much was for certain. It took skill and reflexes to be able to squeeze in the kind of fine-tuned attack as the slice of the horn just before the tackle began - one mistake and the horn might slip, stab the silver neck, pierce the flesh and get stuck there, potentially breaking the neck of the stone-coated offender because of the speed. Only, Lace wasn't going to make the kind of mistake that would allow him to be stabbed.
Suspended in the air and mind clouded by emotions there wasn't much he could do to avoid the cutting strike of the horn. His only choice was to lean ever so slightly to the right, averting the head and thus also the neck from the stormy reaper; and groan, a pained noise that rumbled in the chest as the horn scraped over the ribs and cut a thin, bloody line across the black tree that branded the left shoulder.
Then came the impact, the kick that just barely connected with a bony knee yet still managed to coax a vocal reaction from the so far mute general, and the impact as he landed on the ground. Teeth clamped around flesh for a fraction of a second and was left with little but hair to chew upon as the bite at the eye failed.
Alas, that it had to fail. He could have used a blinded foe, and the boost it would have given him. Now he was faced to kick into thin air once more, as the rump of the Basin warden disappeared from his side. Perhaps a moment of inattention from his side allowed him to miss a move from Deimos, because suddenly he was no longer siding with the glazier but instead strides away, enough to charge with arched neck and horn at a ready; aimed at his own barrel, no less.
This time, it was only reflexes honed after many years of battle that saved him. Surprised and caught off guard, Lace instinctively swerved rump to the right, away from the attack so that he stood face to face with Deimos. Using the connection with the wood of the trees he had prepared, a thin spear of tightly intertwined roots, supple yet sharp, suddenly burst from the moist ground beneath the chest of the unicorn, intended to pierce skin, draw blood and distract as the silver stallion stepped aside, dancing a limping dance to the right despite the complaints of both shoulders and scraped ribs.
Breathing heavily now, the stallion took this short second to inhale and assess the damage. Deimos, with a side that was charred and burned, affected by a complaining knee. Himself, cut at shoulders and ribs, scraped on a leg and tiring quickly due to the cursed fear that made him freak at the least favorable times, acting stupid and taking unnecessary risks.
Angry at himself for caving in to emotion so easily, worried that loss of blood would weaken him further - that he might end up loosing this battle because of it - he decided to act. Suppressing anger, fear and pain at the best of his ability, he threw himself to the left, intending to crash into the left side of the spear-bearer with his entire weight. Lets find out how good he was at keeping his balance; lets find out how he liked teeth snapping at the bone of the hip, and sharp hooves raking down the cannon bones. The Glazier was growing tired of this now, and he wished for it to end.
If he could just expel the panic from his head, throw it as a weapon against this formidable foe. It was so unbecoming, that a seasoned veteran would allow himself to be affected by something like death. He should be used to it by now, ready to welcome it when the dark mistress determined that his time had come. But once faced with a very real threat to his life, the gilded knight found himself hesitating. Objecting. For the sake of his friends, his family, the dragon that so faithfully waited to assist him. For the sake of the gilded shadow-mare who's heart was clad in scales and wreathed with a crown of fire - oh, how he wished to see her again before it was over.
For her sake, he was not allowed to die.
[OOC: Word Count: 742 Post 3/4 Magic use 1/1, remaining magic 0, Companion use: 0/1
Took the horn attack as a scrape over the ribs and shoulder, lessening the depth of the wound by shifting slightly to the right and leaning the neck away from the attack.
Upon being attacked from the side, Lace turned the rear end right to end up facing Deimos, using magic to form a spear of tree roots and tried to stab his chest from below. Hoping for it to distract, Lace immediately moves to the right, then leaps forward to once again place him alongside Deimos (now head to tail). Attempted a bite at the left hip, tries to rake the left front hoof down Deimos's left rear cannon. ]
|
|
CREDITS: Schwartze | venomxbaby | 116802
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
There were always successes and there were always failures in battle. Deimos had come to realize this many times in his cataclysmic, warrior life, when maneuvers seemed plausible and just, and when their motions spiraled, careened, into nothingness. An assault could wind up favorable, but anything thereafter could be disastrous – he couldn’t control everything, just the unfurling mayhem of his own brushstrokes. His first siege upon chest and neck didn’t land precisely where he’d wanted, but he would take the puncture of ribs and shoulder again, rather than naught but air and sky. It was his next attack, the charge toward Lace’s barrel, which left something to be desired.
As he tore into the earth, the ground beneath him changed, altered, and he remembered exploding powder, burning sensations along his limbs, the careening, swift act of evasion as Ricochet threw his strange dirt at his feet. Did Lace contain that unholy magic too? The memory was enough to send him skyward, rearing, aborting the charge and stab, to avoid the taste of gunpowder floating into his mouth – but nay, it hadn’t been that blasted, barbaric dirt. Rugged, jagged roots pulsed, erupting, from the soil, had been careening towards his chest, hoping to impale his flesh. He turned left as he came back down so that the wood wouldn’t graze against his skin and nearly allowed a swift smirk to cross his face. Perhaps Lace was a smarter creature that he’d taken him for. His distraction had worked, unraveling Deimos’s rushing puncture. The balance of battle and warfare: success in avoiding being run through, failure in not being able to accomplish his own strike.
There weren’t any other opportunities to document the moment, for Lace wasted no time in crashing back into the beast’s left. His knee was not smarting enough to quaver over the assault; he kept his weight firm and balanced as the Glazier attempted to mow him down. He felt the tangle of ivories again along his pelt, drifting over hide across his left hip. This prompted his motions to the right, angling his hind away from the further bombardments by the Glazier, and all the while escaping the tides of Lace’s march upon his rear cannon bone. He didn’t reel too far away, didn’t flee from the close proximity, for the ferocity of his finale brewed within the decadent core of his satanic glory.
Devilish toils brushed against the layers of enchantments curled along his bones, muscles and veins, humming, pulsing, with the vibrant mayhem of mortality and immorality. In the chaotic silence, they unfurled their rapturous decay, their corrupt, depraved bedlam - slinking, serpentine vespers of hushed death crawling across his sinew and unleashed into the world before him. They were beguiling eventuality, perpetual anarchy, the alluring, ensnaring grasp of life suffocated and destroyed. Would the Glazier fear the stroke of demise, courting at his lungs, reeling at his soul? Would his companion sink again, as it had that day he’d struck the lizard with the same nefarious necromancy? Would the trees shake, quiver, and fall to their doom, incapable of escaping the inevitable? He reached into the beating crescendo of annihilation and allowed it to sidle over the kingdom before him – to the Glazier near his side, to the walls of forest enclosing their battlefield, to the dragon floating along the canopy. He aimed for destruction and carved a niche in its illustrious scabbard, waited as life was stolen from roots, from trunks, from trees, listened to their crackling void as they began to descend, as he finally immersed the world in his wicked supremacy. Several queries postured across his licentious mind, but only one ultimately culminated within his brow. How does one avoid death?
[620 words. 4/4 + last defense post. 1/1 magic.
Deimos aborts his entire charging attack as Lace uses his magic to raise the wood underneath his chest and impale him. To avoid this impalement, Deimos rears up, and turns to the left. As Lace crashes into his body, he maintains firm, secure balance by remaining completely upright. Lace bites his left hip, but Deimos uses this moment to turn to the right, slipping away from the mark across his cannon bone.
Deimos then uses the close proximity to the Glazier to unleash his death magic. He extends it towards not only Lace, but also his companion and the nearby trees. The trees (3-4), having been sucked of their life, also begin to crash down towards them.]
|
|
Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
| Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath
Chan |
LACE</style>
Time Flies - Time Dies
Truth like a blazing Fire</style>
There was no time left for hesitation. It ran out, now the final sandgrain balanced on the rim of an abyss, just waiting for the final nudge before they began their endless fall.
Would he fall with them? Was he the one to do the shoving, remaining behind cloaked with victory?
The chances were slim. He managed to avoid immediate death and was allowed the briefest moment of self-gratification. He had the pleasure of beholding the General of the Basin as he danced from the threat, plans thwarted, forced to acknowledge the existence of the grullo as his body smacked into the immovable wall that was Deimos.
But it wasn't enough. How could it be enough, when the foe was left so unaffected by his attacks, not even flinching when teeth bit at his hip? The rump of the unicorn shuffled away and for the third time today the black hooves of the guardian scraped through air, dealing no damage whatsoever - not to the prisoner, at least.
His own ego was another thing.
Was he really that weak? Was this all he could accomplish? Chest heaving from the rapid sessions of fast movements the stallion began to turn around his rear to face the reaper once more, and found himself wobbling unsteadily. The wounds upon his body throbbed, ached in nauseating pulsation accompanied by the scent of blood, the stench of burned flesh; without even knowing what it was, he felt the deadly life stealing magic wash over like a black wave.
Black dots began to dance before his eyes. Limbs, slender and strong, started trembling as penetrating chill robbed them of their strength, heat stolen away by every hoarse breath. Believing it to be fatigue the soldier inhaled deeply, gasping for air to absolve this spell - but in vain, for no amount of oxygen in the world would help him recover from this. As if from a great distance the glazier heard a warbling scream, a crying gull erupting from the sky as she dove down in a cloud of flame. It was a wonderful sight, magical and enchanting - he felt like crying upon seeing the dove wobble in the air, fire dying without hitting a mark as the wings gave out and sent her tumbling to the ground.
There were no more enemies. There was only the dying trees, the weakness infesting his heart and the little dragon that fell helplessly from the heavens, dying and defeated. His heart broke for her, he threw himself to the left and forced the muscles to comply as he forced himself into a rear, one meant not for battle but to save a life that meant more to him than anything else in the world. He caught her on the base of his neck and felt the little body tumble down the back, scales and claws cutting his back on the way to the ground - but he didn't care. She was his entire life, and he would make sure she came out of this while still breathing.
The thud as she landed upon the ground was quiet, too small to fully illustrate the impact it had on the equine who's heart she owned. When the mists of the forest enveloped her delicate frame he found himself turning, eyes dead and body dying, toward the intruder who surely had to be the cause of this. Who else would bring such destruction to his home, who else could make the trees of the forest crumble and bow to the earth?
He would never be forgiven for this.
With a feeling that this might be the last thing he accomplished in life, the spider-laced dragon-kin eased forward, forcing his torn and bleeding frame to act against the deadly chill. He ran, closed the distance between himself and the escaping prisoner and reared one last time by the left shoulder, up into the air until the horned murderer appeared to shrink beneath him. Using his last bit of strength he then brought the front down, fully intending to smash his weight into the spine of this enemy, this life stealer who made him feel so weak. Shoving the blame for everything onto Deimos, Lace drummed his hooves toward the back, and as he felt himself pulled back to the earth he allowed himself to fall left, teeth aiming to catch an ear and clamp down on it - wishing to tear it off, to forever place a mark upon this stallion who would forever be an enemy.
And that was it. That was all he could do. His feet smacked back into the soil of his home, sending the god-marked grullo away, staggering to collect his dragon before the both of them was crushed beneath the weight of the toppling trees.
[OOC: Word Count: 800 (used Word Counter for all posts) Post: 4/4 Magic 0, companion 0.
Was hit full force by the magic and was left weakened and stumbling. Caught Fajira as she fell from the sky, failing to attack. Used last bit of strength to run over to Deimos (facing his left shoulder), reared and smacked both front hooves into his back. Came down falling to the left, bit towards the left ear to tear it.
Wound count; slightly deep wound on right shoulder, shallower cut on left side rib and shoulder, shallow cut on right upper forearm. Horse and companion weakened by death magic.
Thank you for a great fight! :)]
|
|
CREDITS: Schwartze | venomxbaby | 116802
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
In the midst of silence, anarchy was his barbaric voice, his villainous song, and his iniquitous masterpiece. It was a culmination of upheaval and insurrection, the pinnacle of depravity, the languid, listless rendering of hopelessness, and he beguiled the earth to share his nefarious philosophy, his hedonistic hymn. The deplorable monster felt not a single sentiment of remorse as the world crumbled around him. The lizard fell from the skies, the forest was torn into fragments of grandeur, and the Glazier appeared withered, haggard and feeble from the armaments of obliteration that had scorched his skin. Too hardened, too damned, too impassive and indifferent, Deimos lavished chaos, mayhem and bedlam upon the kingdom, became a witness to the deadly doldrums he’d incensed. And truly, why should he care? The Edge no longer belonged to his brethren, he didn’t guard its corridors, and he didn’t protect its fringe. The Qian had taken his companions’ sanctuary, their shelter, and then stolen him from his newfound home. There was no point to touching his guard with tenderness and dulcet whims, no purpose to caress the ground in sweet affections, no use to adhere beneficence upon an empire that reminded them each and every day that they had failed to preserve the World’s Edge as their own. Sympathy held no place in his heart for territory lost, for friends never made, and for sentries that had taken him from freedom – an element of life he’d always had, he’d always maintained and cherished. He would remain apathetic, insouciant and nonchalant, even as his sentinel launched his vicious tirade.
His deadly siege, while weakening the Glazier, had also ignited his savage malice. The grullo charged at Deimos, flinging his body in a loathsome, vindictive rear, aiming to hinder the infidel’s spine. Amidst this ferocity, the necromancer rushed forward, a turbulent burst of strength, and Lace’s brandished daggers hit along his rump, likely to be a future, meddling bruise. It stung, it ached, but his backbone wasn’t broken, wasn’t mauled or mangled. Due to his onward motion, the guard’s second attack missed tearing at his ear, and instead, tore against his poll, sliding down the edge of his nape in an elongated nip. Then, everything was over. The adversary staggered, carrying his dragon to a safer area, and a strange sort of calm, lack of tension, washed over the beast. He was finally allowed to breathe: bestial assailments had been expended, scorched, and now, he merely began another game of waiting.
With assaults finalized, he could analyze the status of his figure. Pain still burst from his right flank, that searing burn that would likely continue its onslaught until he’d had it properly healed or doused in water. His right knee’s side throbbed, a decadent, glowing bruise. His right cheek lacked tufts of hair. His left hip and poll smarted from the Glazier’s bites, and his rump gnawed from the pounding of hooves upon its crest. He ached, dull and muted in some areas, stinging, blistering heat in others, but he stood, still potent, still vicious, still a deadly, pernicious force in the venomous world of his distortion and disorder.
[523 words. 4/4 + 1/1 defense post. 1/1 magic used in prior post.
Deimos moves forward as Lace rears, avoiding a heathenous crush to his spine, and instead allowing the hooves to hit the top of his rump. Since he moved forward, he also escaped a torn ear, and Lace’s teeth nip the apex of his poll and drag down in a long nip.
Overall Injuries:
Burn to right flank. Right knee bruised. Right cheek lacking bits of pelt. Left hip and poll aching from bites. Top of rump bruised.
Thank you Chan for an excellent fight!]
|
|
| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
01-07-2013, 08:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-08-2013, 01:28 AM by Official.)
|
DEIMOS | LACE
- - - - -
By my verdict the fight is a TIE.
DEIMOS -- post 1 (attack only)
[Realism]
+ 1| Aims horn to scrape across side
+ 1| Twists to kick out at Lace's shoulder
+ 1| Good mentioning of battle with Ricochet
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy to read
+ 1| I could feel Deimos' emotion
+ 2| Everything moved in a clear direction, good flow
LACE -- post 1
[Realism]
+ 1| Took injury from Deimos charge, even when dodging
+ 1| Leaping out of the way of Deimos' kick
+ 1| Fire breathing to Deimos' side
+ 1| Kick at Deimos' flank
+ 1| Interesting flashback to the boggart battle
[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion
+ 1| Easy read
0| Clear flow, but a few typos
DEIMOS -- post 2
[Realism]
+ 1| Took burn to flank
+ 1| Realistically dodged the kick
- 1| Brushing off the pain of a burn to fully charge at another character seems unrealistic
+ 1| Swinging horn down to slash Lace's shoulder
+ 1| Clever mentioning of Ricochet's exploding dust
[Prose]
+ 1| Easy to read
0| Good emotion, but I had a hard time feeling Deimos
+ 2| Excellent flow with clear transitions
LACE -- post 2
[Realism]
+ 1| Clever way to lessen the blow of Deimos but still realistically take the hit
+ 1| Well aimed kick while still mentioning pain
+ 1| Dodging horn attack but still took a scratch
+ 1| Bite at eye
+ 1| Kick to rear fetlock
[Prose]
+ 2| Beautiful emotion from Lace
+ 1| Easy read
0| Good flow with minor typos - sometimes direction was unclear
DEIMOS -- post 3
[Realism]
+ 1| Slash at Lace's side in half-rear
+ 1| Good avoidance of kick but still took a hit to right knee
+ 1| Avoids damage to eye realistically, but still has some hair loss on cheek
0| Clever way to move hip out of the way, but a mention of the physical deficiency from the burn would make the dodge more realistic
+ 1| Good mention of running out of the fray with a limp from his knee
+ 1| Aim of horn to Lace's middle
[Prose]
+ 1| Good emotion
+ 2| Easy flow
+ 1| Easy read
LACE -- post 3
[Realism]
+ 1| Horn scrape across ribs, avoiding a puncture by leaning
+ 1| Magical, stick spear at Deimos' chest
+ 1| Bite at left hip from nearby
+ 1| Good use of limping
+ 1| Left front leg to Deimos' rear canon
[Prose]
+ 1| Very real, palpable emotion
+ 1| Easy read
0| A little scattered with the flow of the post
DEIMOS -- post 4
[Realism]
- 1| Since Lace took the hit from Deimos' charge, abandoning it is unrealistic
+ 1| Rearing and spinning to avoid the spear
+ 1| Good mention of knee while retaining balance
+ 1| Realistically took bite to hip
0| Mentioning of previous injuries and how they would hinder his movement in escape would have made the avoidance of the hoof to the canon more realistic
+ 1| Magic use at Lace, companion and surrounding trees
[Prose]
+ 2| Much more clear use of Deimos' emotion
+ 1| Good, clear flow
0| Sometimes difficult to follow just what body part is being used
LACE -- post 4
[Realism]
+ 1| Realistically took magical hit
+ 1| Fajira falling, unconcious
+ 1| Aiming to shove hooves into Deimos' back
+ 1| Aiming to bite ear
[Prose]
+ 2| Beautiful emotion
+ 1| Clear, distinct flow
+ 2| Very easy to read
DEIMOS -- post 5 (defense only)
[Realism]
+ 1| Realstically moves to take hit to rump
+ 1| Realistically avoids torn ear in the same movement, but gains injury down poll
DEIMOS
[Bonus]
+ 1| Least injured
+ 1| Mentioning the familiar landscape
+ 2| Mentioning breed
[Injuries]
None.
[Creativity]
+ 1| Never deviated from unique style - true to Deimos' fighting experience
+ 1| Loved the references to the Ricochet battle
Comments: Very good use of style and creative use of words, but during the whole of the fight, Deimos seemed to be written as too overpowered. Burns are some of the most excruciating and painful injuries, and I believe that this was downplayed too much. On occasion, I found your creative use of style difficult when trying to orient position or what limb was being used. However, you had excellent references to previous battles, and a very clean fight.
LACE
[Bonus]
+ 2| Mentioning of breed
+ 2| Mentioning of surroundings
[Injuries]
None.
[Creativity]
+ 1| "The thud as she landed upon the ground was quiet, too small to fully illustrate the impact it had on the equine who's heart she owned."
Comments: The emotion in your posts was clear, beautiful and palpable. However, some of the typos were hard to look over. I think you should proofread your posts more carefully next time! Orientation was sometimes difficult to understand, but not implausible. I would suggest mapping out your battles to help yourself see where your opponent is and do not be afraid to ask for clarity.
TOTAL
DEIMOS - 86
LACE - 86
[Lace earns no VP and Deimos remains a prisoner of the Edge.]
|
 |
Image Credit: dirkjankraan @ Flickr
| Aurora Basin Phantom |
| Filly :: Unicorn :: 15.4hh :: 2 |
| Adoptable |
Thank you judge!
I would just like to point out that the mention of connecting with the trees in the second post was not meant as a use of magic; only a preparation for future use. If I were to explain it in terms of a gunfight, Lace would be placing his hand on the gun, but not drawing it...
In any case, I'll be more clear about that in the next fight! :)
| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
Apologies for that, re-reading does prove it was clearly written. Scores have been adjusted for either fighter resulting in a tie. In the event of a tie no VP is awarded, but the challenger hasn't won and remains without prize of the challenge.
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[JUDGE] instruments to plague us [challenge for freedom - lace]
